


The Locksmith

by ellbie



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Humor, M/M, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellbie/pseuds/ellbie
Summary: "Hello. I'm the Doctor, this is the Master, and we are looking for a locksmith."Post-"End of Time" AU in which the Doctor and the Master have been traveling together. Who didn't see these hijinks coming?
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 108
Collections: Flash Fic Friday





	The Locksmith

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "We were going to have to find a locksmith."

“Oh, I _hate_ you.”

The Master’s glare moved from the Doctor down to the smooth, white metal loops encircling both their wrists. Every tug to free his hand pulled the Doctor’s arm along with it.

The Doctor, who hardly ever seemed surprised by these antics anymore, heaved a weary sigh. "Just give me a second,” he said as he fished around in his jacket pocket with his left hand. "This regeneration isn’t ambidextrous." 

When he produced the sonic screwdriver (which was nearly dropped twice as he fiddled with the settings), the Doctor triumphantly declared, "This should do it!" He aimed the tool at the shackles and watched as it whirred. And whirred. And…

Nothing.

It wasn’t the first time that day the Master rolled his eyes. It _definitely_ wouldn’t be the last.

"That was your brilliant plan?"

Ignoring him, the Doctor puzzled over the contraption. "What is this thing made out of?" He lifted his hand to his face — also ignoring the Master's whine as own arm got jerked up as well — and squinted at the metal pieces that bound them together. "Sonic doesn't seem to affect it."

"Still on about sonic?" he mocked as he produced a far-superior laser screwdriver from his own pocket and jiggled it in front of the Doctor’s face. "Let’s try something that actually works." 

The shrill whine the device emitted made the Doctor wince, and his eyes followed the trail of smoke that curled up and away from where the beam hit the metal.

Still nothing.

In a monumental display of self-control, the Master refrained from hurling the laser screwdriver against the wall.

"No, no, _no_. I am _not_ getting stuck like this." 

He shoved the device back into his pocket and considered his alternatives. Perhaps cutting off the Doctor’s hand? He’d already lost it once, after all... 

_No, that always comes back to bite me,_ he thought. 

He couldn’t help but glance around the TARDIS for something sharp anyway.

The Doctor was still staring intently at the metal contraption. "We're going to need a locksmith," he decided.

"A what?"

"A locksmith. There's someone that I think can help us on Dari-7.”

“The asteroid?”

“Around the year 27,300 should do it,” the Doctor continued. The plan was solidifying in his brain. “Pretty sure it has an established atmosphere by 27,300." 

He made to run to the TARDIS console and yelped when his arm didn’t move with him.

"You're still connected to me, you idiot," the Master spat.

"Right. Sorry. Still getting used to this. Could you, um, join me at the console?"

It was fortunate that the TARDIS was the only one to witness as the last two Time Lords in existence awkwardly promenaded toward the control panel. The barest hint of metal at their wrists was the only indication they weren’t actually holding hands. Had any of the Doctor’s annoying Earth pets been around to laugh, the Master would’ve happily demonstrated how efficient laser was at solving the vast majority of his problems.

When they reached the controls, the Doctor paused.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Well, it's just..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Usually when I pilot her, I have more freedom of movement."

The Master arched an eyebrow.

"I mean, I can... you know... run around. Flip all the knobs and dials. Make a show of it."

The Master used his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Have I told you yet today that I hate you?"

"Only a few times," he said with a grin and skipped to the other side of the control panel, dragging the Master along. "Alright! Off we go!" 

* * *

After a particularly turbulent ride, TARDIS phased out of the time vortex and settled onto Dari-7 (probably) in the year 27,300 (hopefully). The Doctor would have confirmed their time and location on the control panel, but he’d lost his balance at some point during during the trip and fell to the floor, dragging the Master down with him.

"Did you ever once in your long life," the Master said as they struggled to right themselves, "consider that your peacocking is the reason you're such a bad pilot?" He rubbed at where the restraint had dug into his wrist.

"I think that was pretty good for using my wrong hand,” the Doctor pouted. “Better than you would’ve done, anyway.”

"What was that?"

"Nothing! I think we're here."

"You _think_ …?" But the Master was already being dragged toward the doors. 

The heat from three large suns beat down on their faces once they exited the TARDIS.

They appeared to be in the middle of a bustling market, parked neatly between a stall selling some kind of spiky fruit and another stall selling some other kind of spiky fruit. The Doctor shielded his eyes with his left hand and craned his neck over the crowds to look up and down the street for a vendor that could help them. The Master was about to retreat back inside when the Doctor’s face lit up with recognition.

"Ah-HA! I was right. This way!"

They struggled to stay close (but not too close) as they weaved between hordes of alien shoppers. The Master glared at their surroundings, hating every bit of it: the stifling heat, the dust, the noise, the huge white tent the Doctor has stopped in front of…

“This is it,” he said proudly.

The small, bright pink humanoid guarding the entrance peered up at the Time Lords.

"How can I help you?"

The Master scowled down at it.

"Hello. I'm the Doctor, this is the Master," — he gestured with his free hand toward his companion — "and we are looking for a locksmith."

The pink alien smiled. "Ah, you've come to the right place. Just through here, if you will." 

It held back the flap of the tent so the Doctor and the Master could duck inside. The dim space was packed with wooden shelves and tables, each piled high with a mess locks, keys, and safes of various sizes. Some looked incredibly advanced. Others were clearly ancient. When the Doctor dawdled to _ooh_ at some primitive padlock that could’ve been scavenged from Earth, the Master yanked his arm forward.

“Hey!”

“Focus, you moron.”

"Hello!" another pink humanoid called cheerily from the back of the cluttered space. It discarded what appeared to be a foot-long skeleton key crafted from some sort of vegetation onto the top of a pile of junk. "I'm the Locksmith."

The Doctor responded just as cheerily, "Hi! I'm the Doctor. And this is—"

"The Master," the Master huffed, annoyance rising to critical levels.

"Yes, and we seem to... um... well, we've gotten ourselves a bit stuck." The Doctor lifted their joined hands and shook his arm gently so the metal pieces clinked.

The Locksmith beamed and clasped its hands together. "I haven't seen one of these in decades! Where did you find it?"

"Doesn't matter," the Master cut in, jerking his arm back down to his side. "Just get it off us."

"Oh, you don't need me to unlock it, my friends," the Locksmith said.

The Doctor and the Master stared.

"B-but," the Doctor sputtered, "But we tried to open it, and we can’t."

"You can't break it, and you can't force it. It'll remain locked until you give it the password.” It winked two of its four eyes.

When it was clear they weren’t getting it, the Locksmith continued, “What did you say to each other after you put it on?"

"I did _not_ put this on myself," the Master said with a glare that burned into the Doctor, who shrank as far away from the accusation as the shackles would allow.

"It was an accident!" 

"You _accidentally_ handcuffed us together?"

"Ok, it was a poorly thought out non-accident."

The Locksmith cleared its throat.

"Right. Ok, so my friend here" — the Master rolled his eyes at that — "was trying to handcuff me to the railing in my TARDIS…”

“Because you were doing that annoying _thing_ you always do.” 

Really, it was about time the Doctor started taking responsibility for his own actions. They weren’t children anymore.

“...So I thought I’d be clever and snap the other side on him," the Doctor finished glumly.

The Master chuckled. It was pretty funny now that he thought back on it.

The Locksmith smiled as if it say "It happens." Then it actually said, "It happens." Then it asked again, "And the first thing you said after you realized you were stuck was...?"

The Doctor turned to the Master with a smirk and waited. 

The Master sighed. "I believe I said, 'I hate you.'"

The Locksmith laughed. "Well there you have it! 'I hate you' locks the device, and the opposite will unlock it." It waited patiently as a series of expressions waterfalled over the Master's face.

"I... uh... wait..." he sputtered as the Doctor flushed a brilliant shade of red.

"Just say the opposite of 'I hate you,' and you'll be on your way! Free as the wind.”

The Master let out a string of curses in several languages that the Doctor and the Locksmith understood, several that only the Doctor remembered, and a few that only he knew and the TARDIS refused to translate.

The Locksmith watched them, patiently waiting. 

"Just say it," the Doctor grumbled miserably. 

The Master eyes rolled so forcefully his head followed along. His gaze landed on the Doctor. They made eye contact, coughed and looked away, then glared at each other again.

"I... uh..." the Master started. He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. At least he could have a bit of dignity before he died and regenerated from embarrassment. 

_Now that's an idea_ , he thought. 

He could kill the Doctor and pray that he regenerated with skinnier wrists! Then he realized the device would still be stuck to him, and that wouldn't be ideal. The Doctor would probably put up a fight anyway, like he always did. Best just get this over with.

He cleared his throat again.

"I... don't hate you?"

Nothing.

He tried again. “I…” His lips curled back like something foul was settling on his tongue. “...I like you?”

Still nothing.

"Oh, come _on_!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. The Doctor winced as his arm was dragged along. With a final dejected sigh, the Master stared firmly at his feet and muttered, "I love you."

The device unfastened instantly and clattered to the ground. A swift kick from the Master sent it skittering behind a pile of salvage in the back corner of the tent, hopefully never to be seen again.

"I'm going back to the TARDIS," he grumbled, and slouched to the exit. In his embarrassment, he completely forgot to murder the Locksmith and the Doctor before he left.

"Yeah, right behind you," the Doctor muttered. He waited until the Master was out of earshot before turning back to the Locksmith. “Well, now that I know how it works…” He walked over to where the shackles had settled, scooped them up, and dropped them into his pocket. “Thanks for your help,” he told the Locksmith, who nodded.

The Master’s face reappeared through the entrance. “Let’s _go,_ Doctor!”

He gave his jacket a pat to confirm the contraption was tucked safely away and hurried back out to the street.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [一个The Locksmith的续写](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22286896) by [Clara1998](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara1998/pseuds/Clara1998)




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